


nazi cooks tankie a nice lice dinner with rice

by Buzzymite



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Other, lice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:22:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buzzymite/pseuds/Buzzymite
Summary: nazi makes dinner for tankie!! :3this came from jritter i'm sorry
Relationships: auth unity - Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28





	nazi cooks tankie a nice lice dinner with rice

**Author's Note:**

> hi jritter! & jrao3 too i guess smh...

_Beep! beep! beep!_

Nazi swore to himself as the smoke alarm in the kitchen went off for the _third time_ in the past 20 minutes. He pulled himself away from the stove, rushed over to the table and quickly snatched a chair, shoving it into place under the shrieking alarm and climbing onto the seat. How was he so bad at this? He should be a master at cooking!

As he waved the smoke away with a dishrag, he heard a distant bang, and growled under his breath. He hoped nobody was breaking into the house, especially while he was so busy... or maybe something fell over? God, he prayed it wasn't something expensive. He didn't need Ancap on his ass for shattering another $45,000 Mayan vase stolen from some random native group in South America.

A few more desperate bats with the washrag and the smoke alarm fell silent. Nazi sighed in relief, the ringing still in his ears as he hopped down off the chair and returned back to the stove. He didn't usually cook, in fact he didn't really know how to. He could follow a recipe easy-peasy, but when it came to improvising or coming up with something on the spot... yeah, it wasn't his strong suit.

Then again, nobody else in the house cooked either, except for Tankie on some occasions. Nazi leaned his elbow on the counter as he picked at the food simmering in the frying pan. Tankie had tried to teach him how to make a decent meal multiple times before, but the fascist always found some way to fuck it up. 'Turn the heat down' this. 'don't mix it so much' that. 'You didn't use enough egg, it's too dry, it's too lumpy'... "What the fuck are you doing?"

Nazi jolted from his thoughts as he heard the voice of the communist loud and clear, and nearly tipped the frying pan over from whipping around to look behind him. Sure enough, Tankie was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, two grocery bags in each hand and staring at Nazi with a disgusted look on his face. "Huh?"

"I said, what the fuck are you doing? It smells like burnt plastic in here. Are you trying to cook?"

Nazi swallowed, quickly putting down the spatula he was holding and wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. "Uh, yeah? I got hungry, and news flash, we don't have any food. What, should I eat dryer lint?"

Tankie sighed in response, rolling his eyes as he set down the bags full of groceries onto the counter. "You could have waited until I came home instead of... doing whatever you are doing now. Is something burning?" Commie was standing by his side now, squinting down at the frying pan that was still resting on the stove's burner. The food, or uh, rather, substance in the pan was sizzling loudly and drowning in oil. It definitely didn't look appetizing. "... What even is this? I cannot even begin to tell what food this is supposed to look like."

Nazi scoffed and halfheartedly shoved Tankie away from the oven, taking his place in front of the pan and grabbing the rubber spatula again. "It's a surprise, dipshit. I was gonna eat all of it for myself but I suppose I'll let you have some. Unless you were going to snack on plain bread?" That earned a chuckle from the communist behind him, and Nazi heard the rustling of plastic bags as the other authoritarian began to put various food items in the pantry and fridge.

Exhaling through his nose, Nazi reached to turn the stovetop off, then retrieved two plates from the cupboard. He slipped on an oven mitt, then grabbed the frying pan of something and shook an equal amount of the "food" onto each plate, narrowly avoiding spilling oil all over the counter. He picked up both servings, turning to hand one to Tankie, who was busy washing his hands. "If you want rice, it should be done by now."

The communist raised an eyebrow as he turned off the tap and dried his hands with a dishrag. "You... you made rice?" Hesitantly, he took one of the plates from Nazi, staring down at the light brown... things uneasily. The fascist nodded. "Yeah. I had to look up how to do it, though, so I don't know how good it'll be. I used the rice cooker. Y'know, the one none of us have used in like, 8 months?"

Oh yes, Tankie did know. That rice cooker... he had told everyone to stop using it because it was defunct. That's why it was buried behind numerous pots and pans in a drawer under the sink. That's why nobody had been using it. He looked at Nazi. The man had a surprisingly hopeful look in his eye, clearly eager for his fellow statist to have a taste of whatever the hell he just cooked. Commie didn't have the heart to tell the rightist that the rice cooker was broken. "Oh... yes, I- yeah, that's true..."

They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, saying nothing. Nazi waited for Tankie to say anything else, perhaps compliment him on how the food looked, or maybe fix himself a serving of rice, but the communist merely turned away and headed over to the table to take a seat. Wow. Cold. Gripping his plate harder, he shuffled over to the table and took a seat across from the bigger man, who was holding onto the edge of the table and staring at the meal in front of him.

"Um, are you going to eat it?"

Tankie glanced up at Nazi. The mood was extremely tense. Something in the leftist's mind was screaming at him to not eat the food, but he knew he had to. He didn't want Nazi to feel bad. After all, he was rather close with the man and enjoyed being around him. But this... thing, whatever it was that was sitting on his plate right now... he wasn't sure he wanted to put it in his mouth. He slowly picked up a fork, watching Nazi's every move as the fascist stabbed his cutlery into a lump of the substance and chomped down on it. Tankie could hear the loud crunch resulting, and had to force back a grimace. Jesus Christ.

Swallowing nervously, he followed suit, instead deciding to scoop up a small chunk of the stuff with his fork instead of brutally impaling it. The consistency was like dry dog food; upon further inspection Tankie could see that the substance was in the shape of small pellets. He prayed he wouldn't die, oh dear Lenin please don't let him land in the hospital. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to tremble in front of the other man, and bit down, receiving a mouthful of...

... actually surprisingly good food. His eyes snapped open, and he frowned. It... didn't taste bad. It actually tasted... sweet? Like brown sugar. He looked across the table over at Nazi, who was already halfway done cleaning his plate. "Um... Nazi?"

The rightist looked up, his cheeks stuffed full of food and another fork of the substance about to meet its demise. "Mm?" "What, uh... what is this? It's actually good. I did not think you could cook something that actually tastes like food." Tankie scooped up another forkful of the pellets, munching them thoughtfully. Oh, yeah, he could definitely taste the oil. But it mingled well with the sweetness of the stuff. Perhaps he should ask for the recipe, or have Nazi write it down for safekeeping.

"Oh, thanks. It's lice."

What.

All thoughts in Tankie's mind came to an abrupt halt. He stopped chewing immediately. What did he just say. No no, it was a joke, SURELY it was a joke. "Oh... that's. Very funny comrade. Ha! Good joke. Nyet, but seriously, what is it?"

"It's lice. I just fucking told you. Are you doubting me?"

Tankie searched desperately for any hint of clownery on Nazi's face, but he could find none. The man's face was cold as stone, his eyes staring straight through Tankie's soul. He looked, quite frankly, dead serious, and did not say anything more. Tankie could begin to taste something foul. It was as if this new knowledge had immediately ruined the meal for him. Please god, please be a joke. Please.

Shaking, he grabbed a napkin off the table, bringing it up to his mouth and, as politely as he could, spitting the food out into it. He bunched up the napkin, placing it on his lap out of sight. "Nazi..." he began in a small voice. The fascist across from him continued to stare, his hand frozen on a fork that was currently prong-deep in the brown rabbit-shit resembling "food". "... a-are you joking...?"

"No."

Tankie's expression was wiped off his face immediately. His heart stopped. He... he ate lice. He ate lice. And he liked it. What. Where did Nazi get lice from. No no, scratch that, why did he get lice. Huh? Huh!? Why- what.

"You... you cooked... lice..."

"Yeah. It was my own. I got a lice comb off Wish for like $2."

The communist pushed down the urge to throw up. Oh god. Why. He knew he shouldn't have fucking ate the food. He knew damn well he shouldn't have. Now he felt like he was gonna hurl. He stood up slowly, lightly picking up the napkin on his lap. "Ah... I see... spasibo for the meal, comrade, I'm... I'm going to take a shower."

"You didn't even clear your plate."

Commie ignored him, leaving the plate on the table for the other authoritarian to finish it off. He merely turned, tossed the napkin in the trash, brushed his hands off on his coat, and started for the stairs in a powerwalk only Karen, 42, down the street could match. He seriously felt like he was about to vomit. He needed to get out of there, and fast. The world had begun to spin around him, and his mind was screaming at him to _get out quick, before he makes you go back and eat more_. Why had Nazi done this?? What had prompted him to? Why did he act like this was completely normal? All of these thoughts were rushing around in the communist's mind as he death gripped the railing of the stairs, dragging himself up the steps. Why was Nazi so casual about this!? What the fuck? He knew he should never trust Call of Duty players. Oh god he was gonna be sick.

He stopped halfway, his knees buckling under him, and rested his head on the step in front of him, holding onto his stomach. He felt like he was about to die. The panic was too much, the sick feeling was overwhelming, he hadn't even noticed he had begun hyperventilating, the world was spinning faster, his vision was blurry, oh god...

He fell unconscious.

* * *

Nazi was still in the kitchen, helping himself to another serving of fried lice as the door opened and closed with another loud bang. "I'm home!" came a loud voice from the living room. The fascist carried another plate full of pellets over to the table, settling down in his seat once more as Ancap entered the kitchen, holding a cherry icee. "I'm never going to that fucking Bubger Kirg ever again, I was in the drive-thru for 40 minutes and they gave me a single slushie. I didn't even order a slushie. How the hell do you mess up that bad?"

Nazi shrugged, holding up a forkful of food. "If it makes you feel any better, I made dinner tonight. Grab yourself a plate, Tankie already ate and I think he liked it."

"Oh, that's very thoughtful of you, Nazi! I didn't know you could cook. I'd love to try it!"

**Author's Note:**

> i'm @braginskyy on twitter


End file.
